


Before Midnight

by anaraine



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9603425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anaraine/pseuds/anaraine
Summary: It is always a victory when Sabé can get Her Royal Highness into bed before midnight.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lightningwaltz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightningwaltz/gifts).



> You had such lovely ideas about Naboo worldbuilding... and I went for the porn. Whoops. Still, I hope you can enjoy this! Happy Valentine's Day! ♥

With a growing sense of frustration, Padmé strikes out another few lines in the rough draft of her response to Senator Vancil. While he is eminently more reasonable than Senator Greejatus had ever been, she sometimes misses the steady advice and backroom chatter that Senator Palpatine had shared.

But Palpatine has settled quite nicely into his position as Chancellor and while she might not agree with all of his decisions, he is still parsecs ahead of Valorum in terms of decisive action. Palpatine is better placed where he is than as the Senator of Naboo, which means that Padmé must compose a reply to Vancil that is both polite and charming - and right now she feels neither.

"Your Highness," a soft voice calls from the door. Padmé registers the call for her attention, but finishes her thought with an inelegant scratch of her stylus and begins another sentence, frustration leaving the letters blocky and ugly on the flimsiplast.

"Padmé."

"I'll be there in a minute, Sabé," she says curtly.

"You said that half an hour ago, my lady. It is far past time for you to be in bed."

"I have to— _Oh!_ "

It is never wise to ignore her handmaidens, but Sabé is by far the worst at retribution. In her inattention, Sabé had crept close enough to lift Padmé from her chair, her stylus dropping from suddenly nerveless fingers to clatter against the desk. Padmé loops her arms around Sabé's neck, holding tightly even though she knows Sabé would rather die than let her fall.

"Vancil can wait until tomorrow, Highness. Right now, there are four other lovely girls waiting for you to come to bed."

"Only four?" Padmé asks, and if she's a little breathless, well, that's just because she was startled when Sabé picked her up.

"Greedy. I'm right here, aren't I?" Sabé says, and turns on her heel to bring them both to the bedroom.

Padmé smiles into the curve of Sabé's neck, swallowing a huff of laughter and feeling it settle in her stomach, spreading out to her limbs with a lightness that carries her worries away.

Sabé is right. Vancil can wait until tomorrow.

"Has Her Royal Highness has finally deigned to grace us with Her presence?" Eirtaé asks, trying to sound arch but failing miserably. Her blonde hair is splayed out like a halo against Rabé's stomach, nightgown rucked up to her hips and one foot against the bed to allow Yané better access.

Yané pulls back with a smug smile, lips swollen and glossy. "We got a little impatient," she says, and there is more reproach in her voice than Eirtaé managed.

"You have my sincerest apologies." Padmé tries to affect as regal a tone as she does as Amidala, but her throat has gone dry at the tableau before her.

Saché giggles, bouncing on her knees and sliding closer to Yané to press a kiss to her mouth - when she pulls back, she smacks her lips together and shoots a grin at Eirtaé that is so self-satisfied that it makes Sabé snort.

Padmé kicks her feet lightly and squirms against Sabé's hold - she would like to _join_ her handmaidens in the bed that is largely hers. Saché notices first, eyes sharp no matter the situation, and uses the silk coverlet and the curvature of the bed to slide closer to the edge. She reaches out to tug playfully at the thick braid that drapes over Sabe's wrist and down Padmé's back.

"I don't know, Your Highness. I'm not sure I can forgive you for being so tardy."

Yané nods her head in quick agreement, widening her eyes and tilting her chin for maximum effectiveness as she adds, "Our trust has been deeply shaken, Your Highness. Your devotion to your people, to the most dedicated of your supplicants has been deeply lacking—"

Rabé interrupts Yané's ridiculousness by snorting loudly, dislodging Eirtaé with the trembling of her stomach as she tries to suppress her laughter. Eirtaé pokes her recalcitrant pillow once, but the smile on her face is swiftly growing into a low chuckle, and within seconds all of them are giggling madly.

Sabé lets them both fall to the bed, landing against the plushness of the mattress with a heavy thump that sends several pillows to the floor. Padmé tilts her head back to giggle as she digs her fingers into the meat of Sabé's shoulder and holds on, trying desperately to get her breath back. Her stomach muscles are beginning to hurt, but it is a _good_ hurt, cleansing the stress of everyday ruling from her shoulders with every breath of helpless laughter.

Padmé is nearly wheezing when she manages to stop, carefully measuring her breaths when it feels like a single word would send her into another spiral of laughter.

But there are no more words.

Just Rabé's warm hands trailing along her side, and twin kisses from Saché and Yané pressed to each cheek. The brush of Eirtaé's hair against her shoulder, and the weight of Sabé's gaze upon her soul.

Padmé relaxes into their touch, trusting their hands to be kind and submitting to the will of the people she knows so well. Rabé tilts her chin to kiss her thoroughly, trapping her lip between her teeth and pulling, ever so gently, drawing a low whine from Padmé's throat. Eirtaé slides the straps of her nightgown down over her shoulders, trapping her arms against her sides while pressing an openmouthed kiss to her breast, leaving behind a damp patch of fabric that clings to her peaked nipple.

Yané has slid a hand up her nightgown to trace circles against her pelvic bone that makes Padmé want to jerk her hips up for more pressure - it is a light and fleeting touch that is not _enough_. But Saché has slid up to the head of the bed and curled her hands into Padmé's own, keeping them pressed into the sheets above her head and relieving her of most of her leverage.

Still, her spine does its best to form a perfect arch as Sabé kneels between her legs and presses a kiss to the wet silk covering her vulva. It's still too _gentle_ , and Padmé almost wants to cry.

"Please," she says, the words escaping her mouth in a thin whisper.

Rabé hums, dipping back to take another kiss that steals the strength from her knees, her legs knocking up against Sabé's side weakly. When Rabé lets up enough for Padmé to take another breath, she says, "Well. Since you asked so nicely."

It must have been the signal her other handmaidens have been waiting for, because in moments, they are applying themselves in a way that _does_ make Padmé scream. She is distantly grateful that no one else lives in this wing of the palace, but she is more intensely aware of every hand and mouth that is touching her skin with affection and love.

Padmé comes with her heart in her throat and lines of fire running up and down her spine, and she wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
